


Touch

by shittershutter



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, human!body Luther
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 19:26:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18708460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: If he ever touches Luther, he's economical and straight to the point. He knows the hot spots to visit before going for the grand grab of the century. At first, he'd be much more generous, assuming that the man was touch-starved from dicking around on the Moon for four years. Assuming that pawing at him awkwardly would bring him back, would ground him to the Earth faster. It didn't quite occur to him that tactility was just Luther's thing.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a sequel to this: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18017846
> 
> A pretty shameless one.
> 
> Also, I prefer a human!body Luther but this one kind of works with the canon!body scenario, too (oh god).

"I've missed you touching me," Luther says sheepishly. 

Then ducks his head like he just asked Diego to put a fist up his ass with the WWI military marches playing in the background. 

"I'm sorry?" Diego waits for clarification, for any hints or details that never come. His hands are bound at the wrists in front of him with an impressively competent knot and hoping he heard right, he just puts his palms, fingers interlaced, into Luther's lap. 

Technically, that should do the job. 

He waits for the giggle after his punchline but he's met with silence and Luther is fumbling with the contents of Diego's amateur serial killer kit --belts, and ropes, and hooks, and all. The silence drags. 

_"You got yourself a cuddly bastard and then you've made him tie you up so you can't even cuddle with him anymore," _Diego's analytical brain supplies. It sounds like Klaus for some reason. Klaus, the man of quite a few unique insights, seems appropriate for the occasion.__

____

____

"Untie me," Diego mumbles, wiggling his fingers. It's still a theory, a Klaus-fed theory which is even more alarming, but it's worth testing out. 

He rubs some sensation into his wrists and moves to take the leather harness off his chest but Luther stops him. 

"Oh this you can keep on," he says. He still sounds embarrassed like his idea of fun for the evening involves clowns and small farm animals. "You know I like it."

They fucked in the shower a month ago and Diego wasn't tied up then, he certainly was not. He'd keep sliding off otherwise, unable to get a grip on anything. It'd be a disastrous incident waiting to happen, a tragic headline in the papers. The aforementioned Klaus would die laughing and join his imaginary friends to rule the underworld. Other than that, Diego has been selfish in his desires for what feels like months. He gets self-centered as soon as he gets comfortable when he wants to keep it all that unnatural, hard-earned comfort to himself. 

He places his hands on Luther's chest like they are a perfect little prom date posing for a picture. Just to test the boundaries, to feel how he responds. It's not meant to be a joke. More importantly, he doesn't mean it to look cute but it kind of does and he kind of feels cute when he wraps himself around the bigger body. 

It goes against his every instinct. It's not who they are. If they ever hold each other, it's either a wrestling choke or an accident. Diego enjoys both, but that's his secret he doesn't plan on sharing. 

If he ever touches Luther, he's economical and straight to the point. He knows the hot spots to visit before going for the grand grab of the century. At first, he'd be much more generous, assuming that the man was touch-starved from dicking around on the Moon for four years. Assuming that pawing at him awkwardly would bring him back, would ground him to the Earth faster. It didn't quite occur to him that tactility was just Luther's thing.

The big guy is like a particularly strange criminal case for him. He keeps stumbling upon clues that were right in front of him the entire time. 

Diego slides his hands up to the man's neck -- it almost hurts his knuckles not to attempt a playful choke -- before he moves to Luther's face and covers it, fingers rubbing the tight muscle of his jaw in soothing circles.

The bastard nuzzles his palms, bumping against them like a cat. 

It's dark in their bedroom but Luther's so pale that the faintest hint of color blossoms on his cheeks in neon. His blood burns against Diego's palms and the wetness that spreads hopefully, for their sanity's sake comes from the openmouthed kisses against the skin.

Diego dips his head to kiss the center of the man's chest and feel his heart vibrating under his lips, strong and big. The bassline of its rhythmical humming resonates against the back of his skull, his temples, his teeth. 

"Lean back," he whispers directly into the heart.

Luther's eyes are wet when he takes his hands away. The entire face is, to be fair, and it might just be the sweat but Diego presses his mouth against the eyelids one by one and there is so much salt on his lips when he pulls back that he'll need a few proper gulps of tequila to deal with it later. 

It cuts his chest open, the taste, and he rubs it off with the back of his hand before it finds his heart and breaks it. 

"Come on, baby, lean back," he urges. Luther finally focuses on him, blinking, and lowers himself obediently to the pillows against the headboard. 

He stays there when Diego dives under the bed to get the lube, breaking the eye contact to ruin all the uncomfortable magic of the moment. It may be for the better, he thinks, as he curses and sneezes through the clouds of dust with Luther's hand hovering above him unhelpfully. 

He notes that the man's gotten himself together a bit as he climbs back and straddles his lap in a smooth move he's secretly proud of. At least his face is dry and his eyes are focused as he reaches out for the bottle. Diego knocks his hand away with a warning "ah!", exposing his teeth in half a grin, half a threat. 

"But you've dressed up for me and everything," Luther protests, hand pointing in the general direction of Diego's body. 

"Well..." Diego shoves a finger inside himself with a doubled enthusiasm and forgets where he was going with the sentence. The big fucking paws come to grab his thighs as he rocks awkwardly on his knees struggling for balance.

"I'm not helping," Luther says defensively, thumbs stroking the inner thighs, dangerously close to Diego's balls but not quite there. "I'm just holding you. Providing assistance until the reinforcement arrives." Then he snorts. Ben had a theory that as a child Luther has been kidnapped by the aliens who have taught him their ways around humor and jokes and then released him back to Earth to spread the knowledge. 

Diego doesn't object to the theory but laughs anyway out of pure adoration that hits him and tickles him under the ribs. Also, to mask the moan that comes too soon. 

He leans forward to press his hand into the broad chest below and spreads his knees wider to get another finger in, to shove it firmly against the prostate. His efforts are cute and all but he can feel the heat emanating from Luther's monster dick he's currently hovering above. All the fingers he has won't help him. 

All the gods and the saints of all the mythologies won't save him for the matter of fact and he'll limp his way through the crime-ridden streets tomorrow and will have to be very mindful about dispensing the high leg kicks. 

Luther steals a moan from him, the bastard, by pressing the open lips against his, getting him out of his thoughts, out of the rhythm. 

"Slick yourself up, do something useful," Diego grumbles refusing to open his eyes. But kisses back with the tongue and the teeth and enough urgency that gets the other man moving. 

He pulls the fingers out then and lowers his hand to cover Luther's as it slides up and down along the half-hard length below. From the balls to the head, a light squeeze, then back down, over and over, until he can feel the man's thighs start trembling. 

Those tiny little shivers his own body begins to mimic right away because he's tuned into his _not-quite-twin so perfectly_ , he just can't help it. 

Luther's face is red again but now the color spreads to the neck and the chest; the spots that look like marks from half-hearted punches and like blossoming flowers, too. 

"Can you..." he's gasping through the swollen lips. "Can we..."

"We can, Number One," Diego assures with grim determination. "And we will." He throws a weak salute that makes Luther snort and proceeds to take him in. 

Now, in Diego's head, their fucking is always effortless. Like a delicate balancing act, it has the music playing in the background, the rose petals and glitter and things. His body that knows Luther this well, this close is always graceful, soft and accommodating and it just spreads as it is required to. Then they are one, heartbeats and limbs intertwined. 

In reality, they just stare at each other with bulging eyes, not speaking, not even breathing. Diego would laugh at the scene hysterically if he had any air in his lungs. He moves down for eternity and a half with Luther's hands shaking helplessly on either side of his waist, not daring to grab him. He has to grab himself with Luther's hands at some point -- his robot of a mom and tyrant of a dad have raised him to be self-sufficient like that -- and then he's left with mewling uselessly at the searing sensation of hot palms against his lower back.

Diego needs some time alone when he slides down. He sits on his haunches, Luther's balls pressed hard against his ass, Luther's hands stroking his ribs gently, and rocks lightly back and forth, letting his body find the direction, the movement.

Diego's face is wet now too. He'd tell himself that it is just sweat and sweat alone if he was still capable of having an inner monologue. That it doesn't have anything to do with Luther's hands touching his skin, playing with his harness. Those careful sneaky fingers sliding against the leather, tugging at it but not too hard because they both know that if he applies any pressure to Diego in this state, he'll come. He'll explode into a sobbing mess of a man and it's not a sucker punch his pride can handle. 

He straightens his back in silent determination and takes a deep breath through the nose, then battles Luther's long fucking hands away from his chest. 

"No, no, no, don't," he whispers before Luther manages to raise an eyebrow. In his current state, it'd take him forever and Diego has three to four minutes of sanity left, tops. He better spend them wisely so he leans forward to lie on the big guy's chest, wrapping both arms around him. 

Luther tenses but doesn't fight it. It takes him time, the time Diego decidedly doesn't have, to shift and hug the smaller man back. But when he does, he does it with the most content soft sigh that flies by Diego's ear, tickling the skin in its wake. He tucks his face under the big guy's jaw then and pushes himself up through the burn and the stars in his eyes. 

It is not the most familiar feeling to him -- to be in control like this. Not quite his thing to hold his partner together literally, physically with his hands, to set the rhythm, to move them both. But he knows the theory, he can get behind this. 

His fingers tingle as he moves them through Luther's buzzcut, the planes of his stupid face, behind his ears, slides them up and down the muscles of his arms and his chest. His mouth follows, whispering things against the pores and the tiny hairs. The things that he's only told Patch before. Told her to her face instead of being crafty like this only because he suspected she'd punch him and getting punched in the bedroom is kind of his shit. She kissed him instead and he'd be disappointed if he wasn't feeling so lightheaded and happy at that moment. 

"Take it," he whispers into Luther's ear when he feels the other man's thighs tightening under him, getting ready to push up, to take over. "Shhhh, just take it. It's for you."

The legs relax again and Luther lets him ride with both hands on the small of his back, just like Diego likes, not quite directing him, just taking the motion in, participating in the dance.

Diego's own dick is a murder weapon at this point, dark and leaking continuously onto the other man's belly. Luther stares at it for a while, licking his lips, then catches Diego's eye. If it's a question it's the most rhetorical one in the universe.

The whine that Diego lets out in lieu of an answer is probably the first ever sound of weakness he's made that doesn't trigger the burning shame. It invokes wonder instead, pride almost. _"He did this to me, he cared about me enough to make me feel this way..._ " Diego thinks as he watches Luther licking his palm and lowering it down between them. 

It takes one stroke, smooth and easy, and a thumb firmly pressed to the spot under the head. It's done. Whatever innate greed his body had for more pleasure, for more of this sweet pulsating burn, it's gone. What remains are the sobs he's drowning in when he stains Luther's chest. Drowning until the other man shifts and moves to lay him down on his back as he convulses and their hips keep moving together. 

When Luther comes, he pulls out in a rare vanity act and coats the man's thighs, cock, and belly. It's endless. He keeps coming in a white searing blur, squeezing himself dry with such a cruel grip that if Diego could move a finger, he'd stop him, he'd take over. The big guy can be smooth, can be gentle, but not to himself. That's the issue to be addressed but not now, not today. When he's finally done Diego laughs so hard at the dirt, at the decadence of it all that he has a coughing fit. it's strange to laugh with not even a tiny drop of bitterness in it, just pure emotion. It's natural, too. 

"I'm not laughing at you," he wheezes, reminding Luther just in case. The big guy is grinning, though, so maybe he's safe with the outburst this time around. 

Then Luther spoons him, the hot sticky mess that he is, and it's Diego's turn not to fight it. There is a natural instinct in him to go with the good old elbow to the solar plexus route and it buzzes under the skin until eventually it gets soothed by Luther's heartbeat.


End file.
